Bubbly stories

So there Brandon was, lips cracked, tongue feeling like the sand he was laying on, hair all salty and sticky, clothes ragged. If you could still call them clothes, that is. He somehow had managed to find shelter under an upside-down little boat, else he would have been roasted by the blazing sun long ago. It was all he could do, the moment he washed ashore, before he would pass out. Shelter in the trees would have been a couple of 100 feet further away, but you never knew what dangers they would present. In the state he was in, it would have proven to be fatal.
Slowly waking up, Brandon felt he had regained a bit of strength, so he ventured a slow crawl towards the trees. It would be a bit cooler in the shade and there was the prospect of a bit of much needed water. At least his hearing and sight weren't so foggy anymore. If only the same could be said for his memory. When he finally came close the the treeline, he thought he saw something flash in the corner of his eye. He realised he was very vulnerable out in the open, but there was nothing to be done about that now. Straining his ears for any suspicious sounds, glancing in the direction he thought he had seen the movenment, he waited for a little while.
Nothing happened.
Reasoning it must have been a figment of his imagination due to his hazy condition, he continued his steady crawl forward. That's when he heared a familiar snap. It was from a totally different direction. Having heard the sound of a bowstring hitting a bracer thousands of times he immediately knew what was coming for him and instinctively started his decent towards the ground. With a jolt he realised that he was already lying and couldn't go down more. As the arrow pierced the side of his throat, cutting first through the jugular vein, he knew he was going to die right there within seconds.

Brandon woke up in terror, grabbing for his throat, sitting up and hitting his head against the inner hull of the boat directly above him. Everything around his throat felt as it normally ought to be, save for the week of stubbles forming a small beard by now. No scars, scar tissue, stiches or anything where he knew the arrow had hit. It must have been a dream. However, some other things weren't feeling the way he thought they had, and by all rights, should. His mouth wasn't as gravelly and his lips were healing from the cracks. When he dragged his tongue over his lips, he tasted something sweet. Wondering how that could be possible, he rolled to his side, to take a look underneath his shelter.
That's when he felt something prodding in his side. Rolling back, looking down, he saw a little flask filled with what appeared to be some liquid. He removed the stopper and sniffed. Again there was the same sweet scent he had tasted on his lips. Carefull not to spill a drop, he took a small swallow of the liquid. How it felt like the very best wine he had ever had, the most refreshing drink in ages, taking care of his thirst.
Putting back the stopper on the flask he relaxed down again to finally take that look under the brim of the boat. He didn't see his own crawling trail, which he had dreamed. He did however see footsteps going to and from the boat. Someone must have given him some of the drink and then left. Wondering who could have done such a thing, he took another sip from the flask and then crawled from underneath the boat, meanwhile hanging the drink on his belt and taking some small carefull steps towards the trees, to look what there could possibly be. Again.